


a throne unoccupied

by SageMasterofSass



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Baron!Wilson, Duke!House, House gets made high prince but he's very unwilling about it, House just generally being his asshole self but now in breeches instead of jeans!, M/M, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, also Volger is dead but who rly cares right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 06:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15309087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: To fill the following prompt;House/Wilson, Regency AU. House is named crown prince unexpectedly after the death of a close relative. His new advisors scramble to find him a husband in time, and after dozens of rejections, they finally send in their final choice. Wilson.





	a throne unoccupied

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes i am BACK baby and apparently as obsessed as ever because boy am i pounding out these house fics. hopefully someone out there is enjoying them. anyways, shout out to preacher cause she's the best and sends me fun prompts to write!!

There have been plenty of times House has hated people for dying. There was that doctor he was corresponding with on the edge of town. He didn’t even have the decency to die _after_  answering House’s questions about the plague that swept through the land some ten years before he was born.

 

There are his parents, who died not long after House’s birth.

 

A few years back a minor duchess died in the middle of court and it threw the entire castle into a tizzy for days. That one was fun, especially since he’d been called in to figure out she’d been poisoned. The case hadn’t been nearly interesting enough for all the noise and trouble it caused.

 

But never before has House ever hated someone for dying like this.

 

Technically House isn’t even related to the crown prince, one Edward Volger. Or rather, wasn’t. Because Volger is dead from some boring heart condition which leaves House next in line for the throne, currently occupied by a swiftly declining king.

 

The whole mess of how House became a duke is long and boring and filled with several saved lives and several people only very begrudgingly willing to pay back their debt. The title is more meant to be a symbol than anything else. It’s not like House actually has a dukedom, nor does he have any political clout in the court. But waving that fancy title around lets him keep a lab in the castle and run around doing whatever he wants, when he wants. He treats the castle’s illnesses and only snaps when people get too close, and people leave the mysterious, asshole Duke House alone. It’s a system that works.

 

Until now. Because apparently House is technically the next highest in the court hierarchy __somehow.__ Who even let this happen? Who decided this would be a good fucking idea? Somebody, somewhere, fucked up his fake title and now the court, all in a ruckus over Volger’s death, is insisting he’s the crown prince. And they won’t. leave. him. alone.

 

He snaps, he snarls, he hits his cane against the wall so hard it snaps in two, but still all the plans are moving forward. He’s fitted for new clothing and jewelry and given books upon books about the history of the royal family, on royal law, on everything he’ll ever need to know about one day being king. Like any of it is knowledge he’s actually interested in. Like it isn’t knowledge someone is supposed to be taught from birth, simply because there’s so much of it. And instead here they are trying to foist it all on House, who’s prime days are over and done with already.

 

The worst part of it all though, the worst fucking part, is the consorts.

 

All manner of men and women, dressed up and paraded in front of him in a flash of fancy clothing and glittering teeth. Each of them __wants__ to be with him and that’s why he knows they’re really only interested in being consort to the future king and the power that will entail. Nobody __wants__ Duke House. They tolerate him. They gossip about him. They invite him to parties, but only to gawk at him. They don’t fucking want him but they sure are glad when he’s around to save lives.

 

There are a lot of things he can’t fucking stand about people, but having them lie straight to his face through smiling lips is probably in the top ten. The consorts faun over him and offer him pretty compliments and he sends as many of them away crying as he can. The others just leave all huffy and pissed, because they’re royal drama queens who will never actually be queen now.

 

The advisers are nearly apoplectic with him after the eighth duke or duchess flounces out of a luncheon with him. Which is why it’s so surprising when the two wiry women smile encouragingly at him as he’s dressed for the ninth attempt. Before the eight others they’d given him stern looks and warnings, and he’d rolled his eyes and told them to fuck off.

 

Now they’re both smiling brightly at him as two servants flutter around him with armfuls of clothing, trying and discarding several different outfits. He keeps his limbs limp, refusing to help in any way except to remain standing, most of his weight settled on his good leg.  

 

“We think he’s the one,” one adviser enthuses. He can’t be bothered to keep them separate.

 

“He’s perfect for you!” says number two.

 

House sneers at both of them and pulls away from the servants before they can finish tying up his highly embroidered tunic, the one they put on over top of like, two other tunics. Somehow without the laces at his throat done up, the fabric falls open to reveal the edges of his collarbone and a portion of bare chest.

 

He’ll never fucking understand royal clothing.

 

“Let’s get this over with,” he growls at the advisers and they sweep him out of the room with aplomb weighed down with his heavy, awkward step.  

 

They always switch up the rooms he has these luncheons in, like maybe changing the scenery will change how much of an asshole House is. Who knew the castle had so many picturesque side rooms?

 

Today’s chosen location is in the west wing, a tiny room with big, open windows that face the west. At sunset it’s probably filled with liquid honey light filtering through the gauzy white curtains, but for now it’s airy and warm. One wall is full of bookshelves, though none of the books like they’ve been opened in years. There’s an intimate table with two chairs pressed into the corner, and in intricate rug takes up most of the floor room.

 

There’s already food and tea spread across the table top; little finger sandwiches and sweets that House loves but will never admit to loving.

 

Gracelessly, House collapses into one of the chairs, hooking the head of his ivory cane on the table. He fixes his advisers with a glare but they’re already skittering away still wearing those big, stupid grins. Those smiles have got him feeling nervous. They never fucking smile at him, he’s too much of an ass to them.

 

For several minutes House picks uncomfortably through the food, trying to talk himself out of his anxiety. It’s rude to start eating before the other party has arrived, but eventually someone is going to admit that House __isn’t made for this.__ That he doesn’t want this position, never has, never will, and he’d like to vacate it before some distant cousin of the king decides to murder him.

__

The door opens again, more hesitantly this time, and a shaggy head peeks around the corner.

 

“Right room?” the man asks.

 

House snorts. “If you’re here to try and get into the royal family via my trousers, then yes.”

 

The man winces but comes into the room fully, closing the door behind himself. His clothes are rich but modest. Bushy eyebrows, dark hair, brown eyes that shine gold in the sunlight, an expression that speaks of nervousness but a spine of steel hidden somewhere under a kind veneer.

 

The man bows and then offers his hand. “Baron James Wilson of Lina.”

 

House doesn’t take the hand but cocks an eyebrow instead. “Lina. Now I’m not great with geography, but I’m pretty sure that’s one of those…tiny dukedoms that nobody actually cares about in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

 

Wilson presses his lips together in something that looks oddly like both amusement and irritation. Interesting. The other candidates had all been so…perfect. Perfectly tamed expressions, responses, laughs. Nothing real had shown until he’d finally cracked them open.

 

Wilson doesn’t seem to be groomed for this, which makes him mildly interesting.

 

“Sit,” House says imperiously, waving a lazy hand. That’s how monarchs do things, right?

 

Wilson sits and tucks his hands into his lap, obviously uncomfortable. House stares at him, and Wilson stares at the table.

 

“Did they actually tell you what you were getting into here?” House finally asks.

 

Brown eyes flicker up to meet his, and then fix on the window over his shoulder. “Duke House, next in line to be the crown prince after the death of Prince Volger. You studied medicine before this and, if rumors are to be believed, terrorized the castle.”

 

“Did rumors of my abhorrence really travel as far as Lina?” House asks, honestly a little proud.

 

That has Wilson cracking a small smile and actually looking at him. “No. I arrived in the castle yesterday. You wouldn’t believe what the staff has to say about you.” His smile falters suddenly and his gaze drifts away. “Apologies, your highness. I spoke out of turn.”

 

House snorts. “Fuck off with that.”

 

Wilson’s head snaps up, surprise written across his handsome features. “I…I’m sorry?”

 

“If you’ve heard rumors about me then you know I don’t care about decorum or rules or anything about this stupid fucking prince business. I never wanted it. So speak normally, you’re less likely to piss me off that way. Oh, and I’m not even prince yet, you would refer to me as your grace, not your highness.”

 

“Well,” Wilson says slowly, eyeing him warily. When House only stares back fixedly, Wilson’s shoulders sag in relief and he slouches back in his chair with a little groan. “God, that is such a relief. I had no clue what I was doing, obviously. I’ve never even met a duke before. Why would they send me in the first place, I’m just…just-”

 

“A lowly baron from a backwoods dukedom?”

 

Wilson laughs dryly. “You could say that, yeah.”

 

Despite himself, House finds himself smiling. Immediately he wipes the expression off his face as something occurs to him. Of course they’d send him someone like Wilson, someone who also wasn’t born for royalty and doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t want any part of it. Because that makes him a perfect fit for House. And that means he can’t actually be real.

 

Wilson seems relaxed now, and is picking at the food idly, like he’s not actually hungry but, well, everything is laid out.

 

“Gotta say you’re a pretty good actor,” House muses after a moment. The other man looks up at him, head bobbing slightly to the side.

 

“What?”

 

“An actor. You have to be one, there’s no way you’re this…perfect.”

 

Wilson’s eyebrows fly up in what appears to be genuine surprise. “You think I’m an actor.” Then, slightly more high pitched. “You think I’m perfect?”

 

House scoffs and gestures expansively at the man. “Of course you are! They got my physical tastes right after the second candidate, you’re all boyish and pretty and golden.”

 

“Golden.” Wilson mouths the word silently in confusion.

 

“And this whole ‘oh I’m just a country bumpkin!’ act is total bull. They wouldn’t send someone my way if they didn’t actually want to be a consort. Why would they? They need someone capable of managing me, and nobody is going to willingly sign up for that job without the promise of great power.”

 

Silence. Wilson stares him down for a long moment and then leans forward, elbows on the table. House is pretty sure that breaks like, ten different etiquette rules. “Let me get this straight,” he says lowly, the words drawn out and slow. “You think I’m acting because I’m not trying to charm my way into your pants? Because I have no idea why I randomly received a summons to the castle?”

 

House gives a decisive nod. “Exactly. I’m glad we could come to a consensus on this. On your way out be sure to tell the dynamic duo that they’re clever but not as clever as me.”

 

Wilson leans back in his chair, one hand coming up to rub at his jaw. His eyes are bright and interested as he murmurs, “You are __something else__ ,” mostly to himself. Then, more loudly, “I’m not pretending to be anything, Duke House. I’m just me.”

 

“Don’t call me Duke.”

 

“Alright, House then. I’m not acting.”

 

House arches an eyebrow and leans across the table. “Why should I believe you?’

 

Just like House thought he would, Wilson rises to the obvious challenge, leaning right into House’s personal space without batting an eyelash. Their faces are only a breath apart, both of them leaning across the small wooden table. Without it they’d probably be pressed chest to chest right now.

 

“You shouldn’t believe me,” Wilson says. His voice is quiet in the space between them and his breath is damp where it fans against House’s skin.

 

“Well that’s an interesting position to take,” House quips back, just as softly.

 

“There’s nothing I could possibly do to make you believe me,” Wilson continues, like House had never spoken. “Why should I spend my time beating my head against a stone wall when you’re obviously more stubborn than an entire team of mules? Either you send me away, or you don’t. The choice is yours.”

 

The proclamation hangs physically between them and doesn’t dissipate even when Wilson finally backs off. The man stands smoothly from his chair, leaving House halfway across the table and feeling rather bereft.

 

Wilson bows lowly, but there’s something almost sarcastic about the motion now. “High prince,” he says, and then he’s gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.

 

Slowly House leans back in his chair, hands steepling under his chin as he turns the interaction over and over again in his mind.

 

His advisers come to fetch him a few minutes later, looking very hopeful. One of their faces fall when she sees the mostly uneaten meal, but the other smiles brightly at him.

 

“Well?” she says.

 

House eyes her with distaste. He hates when other people are right. He’s decided it’s going to be Wilson or it won’t be anyone at all, and he’s dreading the moment when the devious duo finally figure it out.

 

“Schedule another lunch.”

**Author's Note:**

> i take prompts on my [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)! send me cool stuff and ill write it


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